The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

patronizing.” Trevor took the seat beside Jude in the narrow booth. “He’s just an ass.”
    “I meant it as a compliment. English pubs, certainly in the city, tend to be a bit more reserved than those you find in Ireland. And rarely have barmaids with faces like film stars.”
    He swiveled to take another look at Darcy. “I think I’m in love.”
    “A complete ass. You’re not eating,” Trevor said to Jude. “Is Darcy wrong about tonight’s stew?”
    “No.” Guilty, Jude took another spoonful. “It’s wonderful. It’s just I’m not really hungry. I had a late . . . mmmm.”
    “Cravings?” When she flushed, Trevor laughed. “For my sister, all three times, it was Fig Newtons for breakfast. She ate truckloads.”
    “Chocolate ice cream, at teatime. Gallons.” Jude shot a wary glance toward Aidan. “I haven’t made a full confession yet. Aidan’s afraid I’ll waste away.” She put a hand on her belly. “As if.”
    “Here we are, now, gin and tonic and a Harp.” Darcy set them down. “Will you have a meal with us, then?”
    “We’ll have the stew,” Trevor said before Nigel could order. “Will you sing later?”
    “I might.” With a saucy wink, she sauntered off.
    “I might have wanted a look at the menu,” Nigel complained.
    “You’re coming to the lady’s rescue here. We eat the same thing, and that way we can each take a portion of her stew and save her.”
    “God bless you,” Jude said with feeling and passed Trevor the basket of bread.
    Their bowls had barely been served when music started. Just a fiddle and pennywhistle at first from a couple of the people crammed around the table at the front. The table itself was loaded with pints and glasses, ashtrays and packs of cigarettes.
    Conversation didn’t stop with the music, but it lowered. It was Darcy, Trevor noted, who worked the table, taking away the empties, the overflowing ashtrays and replacing them with fresh. An old man with a squeeze box gave her a little pat on the bottom, in much the same way an adult pats a baby, then, tapping his foot, picked up the tune and filled it out.
    “That’s Brian Fitzgerald on the fiddle,” Jude told them. “We’re cousins of some sort. And that’s young Connor on the pennywhistle and Matt Magee, likely a cousin of yours, Trevor, on the little accordion. The young woman with the guitar is Patty Riley, and I don’t know the other woman, the other fiddler. I don’t think she’s local or I would.”
    Nigel nodded, sampled his stew. “Do you get many musicians in for an informal who aren’t local?”
    “All the time. Gallagher’s has a reputation with its sessions, formal and informal.” She looked on Trevor with warm affection when he casually spooned some of her stew into his bowl, then Nigel’s. “I’d name the baby after you for this, but Aidan would be suspicious.”
    “It’s not a hardship. Shawn’s a genius.”
    “I thought Trev was exaggerating the culinary skills of our newest artist.” Happily now, Nigel dug into the stew again. “I should’ve known better. He’s never wrong.”
    It was the laugh that caught Nigel first. Warm, female, sexy. He glanced over, toward it, and watched as Darcy laid a hand on the old man’s shoulder, counted off the time with her toe, then caught the tune with her voice.
     
    As I was going over the far-famed Kerry mountains/ I met with Captain Farrell and his money he was counting.
     
     
    He laid his spoon down, focused, and shut out the background noise.
     
    I first produced me pistol, and then produced me rapier/ Saying stand and deliver for you are my bold deceiver.
     
     
    It was a bright, jumpy song with bouncy lyrics. Nothing that put great demands on a voice but for its quickness. But it took no more than the first verse for him to know.
    He looked at Trevor, nodded. “No, you’re never wrong.”
    There were reels, jigs, waltzes, and ballads, with or without voices joining in. When Shawn finally came out of the kitchen, Nigel got his first look at the three Gallaghers together.
    “Excellent genes there,” he murmured, and Jude beamed.
    “Aren’t they beautiful? And listen,” she added when they began to sing of the bold Fenian men.
    Despite her enjoyment of her family, she caught the look that passed between Nigel and Trevor. These, she thought, were men who had something to say to each other, and wouldn’t while she could hear. Well, she owed them. So when the song was over, she patted Trevor’s